


You’re Mine!

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), overwatch
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, One-Shot, Sojiro Shimada - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: You are minding your own business when you attract the attention of a very dangerous admirer.





	You’re Mine!

You were so happy to be exploring the historic buildings. They were fascinating in their spare elegance, as well as the historic significance. So much effort had gone into preserving the ancient architecture and furnishings that it took your breath away. You were staring into every careful display case—adoring the delicate kimono and obis, staring at the glorious swords and weapons, examining the china and decorations. It was beautiful and you felt like you were a part of history in some small way as you stood where samurai and geisha stood, walked, and talked.

The only thing that put a dent in your enjoyment was the reflected face hovered over your shoulder the entire time. You were sure he had been in the tour group at the start because you certainly would have noticed him because he was constantly surrounded by the three muscular, Japanese men in business suits. But sometime when you were happily sketching the outdoor tea house, you had attracted his attention. Perhaps it was your hurried sketches of a samurai sipping tea. Perhaps it was the kitten you had added off to one side to watch the ceremony. It didn’t matter since you had his attention now and couldn’t shake it.

You heard a hushed whisper behind you and glanced over your shoulder. The three men were obviously bodyguards as they surrounded the older fourth man. He was even more expensively suited than they and he had a heavy gold watch and spotlessly white socks—his glassy shined shoes being left outside. You guessed he was between fifty and sixty. He had cleanly shaved cheeks and a silvery gray tonsure around his slickly bald head. He wore an elaborately tooled leather eyepatch over his left eye and you itched to sketch the swirling dragons, but his glare seemed to give everyone the shivers, so you didn’t dare. His right eye was sharp and intelligent and was still staring at you and your book of sketches. You kept dropping your eyes instinctively—hopefully respectfully—and turning away. Hopefully he didn’t notice how your eyes stuttered to his gold ring and watch, because both were so outrageously expensive.

You tried to ignore him, to get back to your lighthearted drawing, but every time you stopped to take something in, he did. Every glass covered case you stopped and peered at, his face was right there over your shoulder. You tried to get behind him, to get around the groups of people so that you were out of his way, but it was no use.

The swords in the next room made your mouth water. There was a shorter wakasashi with a plain bamboo scabbard that looked almost like a short cane. Right next to it was an elaborate katana with a liberally decorated scabbard with lacquer and inset with gold and mother-of-pearl. A dragon coiled from the base of the hand guard—called a “tsuba”—down the blade and every detail made your mouth water. You ignored the snort behind you as you fumbled to bring out your sketch book and your pencil.

The sketch was going to be amazing. The stark and plain wakazashi next to the detailed and lovingly decorated katana gave your sketch an... energy you hadn’t captured before. It was like finding a perfect blend of sweet-and-sour that blended and made each flavor burst together. You were ecstatic that it was going so well.

You finally looked up when the next crowd of tourists began chattering in a noisy blend of Japanese and English and other languages. The crowd began milling around in various groups and shifting around the exhibits. At first, you were going to ignore them but then they began exiting almost as quickly as they came in like tuna swimming away from sharks in a hundred directions. You watched them and figured that something was going on.

A new group of sharply dressed men came in with scowls all over their faces. Your... admirer was also glaring proudly at them. The man in the middle of that group—another older Japanese man with an expensive suit and jewelry—gave your admirer a small bob of his head. Finally, the two leaders—alpha men bristling at each other—waved at their men, who began hustling the remaining people into the hallways and out of the room.

The gray haired man with the eyepatch turned and his one eye stared at you. Finally, he waved again, summoning one of his men, and pointed at you. “Keep her.” He gestured towards a plain looking door that you could only imagine was a closet or something. “Through there.”

“Yes, sir!”

Dutifully, you were herded to the specified door. With little ceremony, you were pushed inside and the door slid shut behind you. It wasn’t absolutely dark, but it was close enough you fumbled with your things to bring out your phone and turn on the flashlight app. Behind you, you heard the two men start to growl louder and harsh thumping. Whatever it was, you were sure you didn’t want to know and didn’t want to be a part of it.

To your surprise, this wasn’t a closet at all—it was a facade at the top of some service stairs. You shuddered as you heard some harsh words behind you and you began to race down. Sure enough, the stairs went down to a thoroughly modern room that was apparently used by the performers and costumed tour guides. There was a long dressing table against one wall with lights all along the top of the mirror and piles of makeup all over it. There was a sewing machine in a corner, along with a messy box of sewing errata. Then all manner of spare shoes and a long wardrobe cart with spare costumes and accessories hanging up. Then there was a set of lockers and a card table with some stools where apparently staff had lunch.

Of course, there were several doors—none of which were marked as “exit” or “go this way”. So, you dodged the card table and began trying the doors. Two of them went into other dressing rooms with bathrooms in the back. You tried to open the next door, only to find it was locked. It was enough to almost make you cry, when you heard the last door open.

A very startled woman came in, staring at you in curiosity. You took in her costume—a beautiful kimono in navy with white waves around her legs and a lighter blue obi. It was windy and rainy out now and the woman had a long hooded cape around her body. The cape was full—it had to be to cover the elaborate drum knot of the long obi at her back—and covered her from head to her ankles.

“W-w-who are you?” she asked. “Are you... lost?”

There was some kind of thump from upstairs. Maybe it was serious. Maybe it wasn’t. But it was enough that you jumped and you blurted out. “Ummm... I’m new, but I forgot my stuff in my car. Could I... could I borrow your cloak?”

She wasn’t sure she believed you. That was obvious and you held your breath. Still, she gave you a tremulous smile and nodded. Carefully, she peeled the hood off her elaborate hair updo and combs and hairpins. Then, she began unwinding the fabric from her kimono. “I guess if you’re just running out and running back, it will be all right. Silly me—I forgot the parasol and had to borrow this from the visitor’s center. And of course, it’s raining cats and dogs which would just ruin the silk. So, just take it back there, okay?”

“Okay. Sure. Visitor’s center.” She turned and began taking off her shoes to slide on the delicate inside slippers as you wrapped up. “I’ll head there immediately.”

She nodded and leaned over the makeup to touch up her face, but she was immediately dismissed from your mind as you pulled the cape all over yourself. Even if someone was watching from the windows above, you would be almost invisible. Slowly, you opened the door and glanced outside. No one was there—the courtyard and garden was strangely completely empty—and you bolted out.

You were all but running out in the pouring rain, your feet crunching on the pebbles of the path, when you happened to hear something. Your eyes were drawn to the side and you saw... a group of suited men with black umbrellas surrounding someone. You didn’t want to know. So, you turned again and began walking away from them.

You weren’t so lucky. One of them must have seen you—recognized you from that brief glance—and you heard one of them say, “Master Sojiro—there!”

Your heart dropped to hear a shout and you began running away. You were so close to another building, your arm was stretched out to the door. Then a suited arm reached out from behind you to grab your wrist. The breath of freedom blew away as your arm was jerked back and the hood pulled off your head.

You were immediately absorbed in the crowd of bodyguards surrounding you. There were umbrellas completely blocking your view of the sky, no matter how you twisted to look around. The one-eyed man grinned and nodded at you as he grabbed your shoulder.

“You’re mine!”


End file.
